The Rift
by Ramzes
Summary: "Too many dragons are as dangerous as too few," Daeron the Good claimed. But sending one of them away comes at a price. Even if it isn't the realm that would pay it. A sequel to A Dragon Expendable.
1. Chapter 1

The Rift

Aemon left King's Landing early in the morning, before dawn touched rosy fingers against the dark sea and rose the streets of the city to life, loud and violent. Despite his pallor, he looked calm, serene even as he bowed to his grandfather one last time and started descending the stairs that would lead him to the yard and the horsemen waiting for him.

"Wait," Daeron said and the boy turned, hope sudden and vivid in his eyes. "You can still go by ship," the King went on. "It isn't too late. You can travel by see and stop at Starfall and meet your mother's kin. You wanted to, didn't you?"

Aemon shook his head. "Thank you, Your Grace, but I'd rather go by horse," he said and looked up. From a window high above, three small figures started waving farewell. Daeron's attempt to give him a small comfort a poor second best.

"Too many dragons are just as dangerous as too few," he said as if someone had asked him for his reasons when no one had in many days. "They are too dangerous."

Maekar didn't reply and then every chance of hearing each other faded away with the thud of horses. When silence reigned anew, Daeron sighed. "You don't need to do any of your duties today," he said.

"I'll be there," Maekar replied.

When they left the yard, Daeron noticed that Maekar chose to go through the series of courts and then then around the White Sword Tower, rather than take the shorter path that would make him walk with Daeron.

In the great bedchamber, all lamps were burning and that took Daeron by surprise. Lately, his queen had her bedcurtains drawn each time someone needed light, be it candle or sun delivered, to do something 0 her eyes hurt too much. Mariah lay wide awake, as silent as a ghost and as pale as one. Daeron looked away immediately. She was staring right into the lamp at her bedside, as if she wanted the light to burn her sight away. Daeron wanted to ask why she was alone when she was not supposed to be left unattended for a moment now.

"I didn't think you'd actually do it," she said, finally looking at him. Her eyes blazed even more brightly on her waxen face. The hands lying on the cover, thin and wrinkled, resembled bird's talons more than anything else. They didn't reach for him or even grasp the cover but the constant tremor made them flutter ceaselessly. "The fact that you'd draw a parallel between our grandsons and Daemon, I can take. I thought too highly of you, it seems. But the fact that you don't care for anyone else…"

Daeron ground his teeth. "If you think so, it's truly pointless to try and change your mind, isn't it?" he asked but he didn't come near. Just as close as he needed to hear her whisper, although even this was too close right now. "I'm surprised that you're still determined to ignore our responsibilities to this realm."

"And don't we have any responsibilities to Aemon? Have you ever thought about that?"

Daeron remembered those days so long ago when a few times in a row, he had gone to talk to Maekar and while waiting for him to return from wherever he was, he had had the chance to find out that Aemon loved being read to. Dyanna had been alive then, expecting the birth of Daeron's first granddaughter, and dozing off the moment she sat down, leaving Daeron, Aemon and the books all on their own. A small hand tracing the lines the way Daeron showed him, reenacting the book with his favourite toys…

"I did what I could for him." Means and comforts, and all the books Aemon could wish for. That had to count for something, didn't it?

"You did what you could to destroy his life."

Daeron's anger flashed like a lightning, all of a sudden. Mariah laughed weakly, red foam, dark in the candlelight, staining her lips. "Hit me, why don't you?" she invited. "I haven't known you at all… Why not this as well?"

Daeron stepped back, taking his hand down and staring at is as if it wasn't his. Mariah's laughter died as quickly as it had risen. "Is that what you've been thinking all the time?" she asked. "Was everything you ever told me a lie? Since the time I couldn't give you a daughter but a third son instead?"

"No!"

She stared at him as if she were trying to connect separate pieces into a single person, watching him and wondering if this was the same Daeron Targaryen that she loved. If this Daeron had ever existed. She tried to tell herself that what she knew now tainted her judgment of times long gone, yet she couldn't help but feel that this terrible suspicion colour the remembered joy of her younger children's births and even the gift of Summerhall that he had made Maekar. Had it been not only a gift out of gratitude and acknowledgment coupled with the need of having a tighter control over there, or also a way to send him away, lessen the potential of a second Dance of Dragons or Daemon's treason repeat?

"Are you ever going to realize that whatever I am doing, I'm doing it because I want to prevent the possibility of problems and not out of some strange disappointment you'd like to ascribe to me? When our children were born, I was too young to even consider such things, no matter what kind of experienced liar you want to believe I was. I am not relieved that I sent Aemon away. I am sorry."

She shook this away with a slight movement of her head against the pillow. "But not enough to undo it."

"No," he admitted. "And I don't think I'll stop being sorry soon."

She gave him a look that was almost pitying. "No," she agreed. "I don't think you will either. Today, you lost something that you value almost as much as your realm. And soon, you'll know it."

She stirred, painfully, but when Daeron tried to help her turn on the other side, she waved him away as if his touch would slice her in two. She turned on her own, panting, and buried her face in the pillow.

Silently, he turned and strode away. She'd never understand. She'd go to the Stranger not understanding, filled with those suspicions that were preposterous but so very real to her. And he could do nothing to change that. The days when she couldn't wait for him to enter her bedchamber at night looked like something that had never been, something out of a dream or illusion. Now, she couldn't stand the slightest touch on his part.

In the antechamber, Elaena rose from her seat, her eyes questioning.

"Go to her," Daeron said tiredly. "She needs company."

She nodded and walked to the door but he stopped her.

"Elaena."

She turned back.

"Did you forgive him?" he asked. "After all those years?"

Silently, she slid into the bedchamber and Daeron headed for his solar, wishing for the sun to come and the new day to begin, although he knew it would not change a thing.

* * *

The raven arrived in the expected time and Daeron realized that his hand was shaking as he opened the letter. The first look made him feel vaguely disappointed. Just a notification that Aemon had arrived safely, that he was fine, that he had taken his first lessons already. Not a line in the boy's own hand. Daeron wasn't sure why he had expected that there would be. He had noticed how withdrawn Aemon had become in those two weeks between getting to know the King's decision and leaving. Why would he change that now?

He was about to place the note in his chest with personal documents, reaching over when he decided against it. Mariah would probably like to see it for herself. Those days, she had become as quiet as he had ever seen her, the hope in her eyes dead and gone, leaving only blankness.

The courtiers and servants who met him on his way to Maegor's Holdfast did their best to avoid his notice. Daeron didn't even realize how grim and forbidding he looked, entangled in his doomed battle with the Stranger who could reach for Mariah with a cold hand any moment now and the coldness that wormed its way into his family further instead of retreating now that Daeron had ended the agony of hoping that they'd change his mind.

When the Dornish servant opened the door, the first thing he saw was a doll and cloth monkey sitting in a chair as if presiding over a court. The sight brought a smile to his lips as he looked around to see his granddaughters before registering that it was too quiet for them to be here. And they weren't. Instead, Maekar stood near the window, Mariah painfully small and frail in his arms as she made a hesitant attempt to look outside, even if this outside consisted only of walls twelve feet thick and the dry moat with iron spikes, all rusty with time, rains, and blood that was the Targaryen history. _Fire and blood_ , Daeron thought. He had never liked those words.

Neither of them had heard him enter. Mariah said something so quietly that Daeron wasn't sure it had really been words leaving her mouth. But Maekar's answer was clear. "Tomorrow. If you behave, eat your supper and take your potions."

"I don't like it," Mariah said as Daeron drew nearer. "I am not Daella or Rhae, you know."

"You can stay here, then." Maekar's tone was so matter-of-factly that Daeron smiled. "I am just not taking you unless you're fed and taken your potions. And I know you aren't one of the girls. That's why I'm giving you a choice."

This time, they both heard him. Maekar turned and for a moment stayed where he was. Mariah gave her husband a look of surprise. She hadn't expected him before the time for the evening feast came. Despite everything, he still took his meals with her.

"There is a letter from the Citadel," Daeron said. "Aemon has arrived safely and in good state."

There was silence. In all those weeks, Aemon's name had never been mentioned between them. Not once after that first morning.

"That's good," Maekar finally said and looked at his mother. "I'll be going now."

She looked disappointed but didn't say anything as he placed her back in her bed, adjusting the cover. "You're coming back tomorrow, aren't you?"

"Of course," he said, bowed to the King and left.

Silence followed as Mariah tried to reach for her bedcurtains. Daeron let the window-curtains fall back instead and came near. "I didn't know he was visiting you."

"He's never stopped."

Hadn't he? Maekar had only become more reticent, avoiding all of them whenever he could. In fact, their interactions were limited to work and official events. Daeron had heard that his son had started spending even more time with his Lothston woman, the pretenses that she was there only to overlook the girls' upbringing collapsing rapidly. Since he couldn't make amends, finally Daeron had chosen to give him his time. But the fact that Maekar was visiting his mother was troubling. Of course, Mariah was dying and he didn't have the time for solitude and waiting for anger to retreat. But that was the thing. There seemed to be no seething at all. He hadn't been struggling to find his words. He had looked comfortable around her while with the rest of them, distance was as strong as it had been the first day _. At the end, he'll come around_ , Baelor claimed but today, Daeron wasn't sure this would be the case.

"Is he still angry with me?" Daeron asked, taking a seat.

"Why don't you ask him?"

"I did. He went silent."

"I did as well. He didn't go silent," she said and a fit of cough shook her shrunken body. Daeron held a cloth to her mouth and looked away from the scarlet stains. After a while, Mariah went on from where she had left. "He says sending Aemon away was not just cruel but insulting. He says it's like you're just waiting for him or them to do something akin to what Daemon did."

"That's absurd!"

"Is it?" Mariah asked tiredly. "What does "too many dragons are dangerous" mean, then?"

Daeron started to reply and then realized that there was nothing that he could say.

His silence filled the chamber with tension but it drew Mariah to him. She reached out and since she couldn't push herself up to touch his hand, he leaned over and took hers. She had known all along what he was realizing just now: Maekar was lost to him as certainly as Aemon. He'd go about his duties, for competence and diligence were in his nature. He'd obey Daeron's commands. But the strange coldness that was barely kept at bay between them would only grow stronger. New blows and old scars. A life spent in the shadow, sometimes justly, more often not. Pain and pride, and the bitterness of a lifetime that had only been disrupted for the short years between Maekar's wedding to Dyanna and her terrible death. They were all there. Forgiving? Perhaps. Forgetting? Never. When Mariah was no more, Maekar would just retreat in his world of dutifulness and resentment, only turning to Saryl Lothston for comfort and companionship. And Daeron couldn't say he'd be in the wrong. There were so many ways to lose someone. Even when they were still there.

Mariah sighed. Had she read his mind? "His children are as much our flesh and blood as Valarr and Matarys," she said but there was no edge to her voice now. "Yet you're ready to reject that for reasons that even I cannot agree with. How can you expect that he will?"

 _At the end, he'll see sense_ , Baelor claimed. _He'll never accept it_ , Mariah was saying now. Daeron prayed fervently that it would be his son who'd turn out to be right but something from the back of his mind whispered that it wouldn't be this easy. All those years of trying to keep a realm together while the King had seemed determined to destroy it with lust, wants, and wars within and outside and do it not from King's Landing but Dragonstone, under the King's mistrust… what time could he have found for a boy who did everything in time and well, giving him no trouble at all? Someone who wasn't going to be important anyway. Could have all those times when he had said, "I have no time for Maekar", sometimes in the boy's hearing, really go unpunished?

Mariah's hand in his became heavy. Her breathing evened out. Daeron placed her hand on the bed, rose and left the chamber as soundlessly as possible. At the last moment, he turned back and glanced at the bed. From where he was, part of the bedcurtains looked drawn, as if Mariah was already wrapped in her shroud. Daeron shuddered and closed the door softly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to VVSINGOFTHECROSS for the review!**

The Rift **  
**

Chapter 2

The small chamber was cleaner than Saryl Lothston had expected. A rug with bright patterns, a real couch with hard pillows, serene green curtains on the windows… Her eyes immediately went to the low bed covered with white fleecy rug, with soft pillows and despite everything, she blushed which took her aback. Hadn't she been to enough places like this, most of them much dingier? She was used to strangers' eyes watching her naked body, strangers' hands touching her, looking for the reason that made her the way she was.

"Take a seat," the old woman invited and Saryl silently did, although she had little time to waste. She knew that those women would not go to the essential part until they recited their speech, so she wouldn't feel as if she had thrown her coins to the wind if it turned out that they could not help her. No one ever had.

"I knew you would come, my lady," the woman said – which Saryl hadn't expected. That was not part of the usual speech.

"How could you know?" she asked sharply. "I haven't even thought about it until yesterday."

"You haven't thought about it but it was inevitable. I am the best in my trade here. Of course you came. Every woman wants to give birth. And I know you've been trying since your lord husband was still alive."

She looked extremely confident, not for a moment scared that her potential client might get angry and leave. Saryl's blood indeed rose at this confirmation that maesters and wise-women had been talking about her hopes, her despair, her burden of a barren woman. But despite everything, hope stirred again. If the woman was so sure of herself, perhaps this time…

"Sometimes, the fault lies with the man but in your case, it's hardly that."

Saryl looked at her, amused all of a sudden at the idea that it might be Maekar's fault. The man had six children with Lady Dyanna!

"It isn't," she said.

The woman, old and wrinkled but upright, with eyes that were very dark and lit with inner fire, with clean clothes and short nails, nodded. "Would you rise now?"

Saryl rose and slowly turned around, as all those healers had taught her with the years. The wise-woman nodded.

"You're too narrow in the hips, my lady. A babe would hardly have place to lie in you. That's just your womb. Let me examine you now…" she went on, her eyes on the huge sapphire in a nest of entwined silver and gold rising over the silver ring on Saryl's finger, Lady Dyanna's last present. Saryl had long admired it on the pale hand, so much whiter than hers... It was evident that the healer coveted it, hoped that it would be her payment.

Saryl lay down and let her do whatever she wanted, just in case. But the woman had failed at the very first test. She wouldn't give her the help that she longed for despite any common sense.

When she left, the sun was going down. Her handmaiden rose eagerly and they headed back for Aegon's Hill, heads bowed down and hoods pulled low. Still, people saw them going out and somehow, they recognized them. The rumours about Prince Maekar's mistress who was seeking a cure again, this time from the best-known witch in King's Landing, flew around that very same day.

* * *

Was it possible that Maekar didn't know? Daeron had heard the ridiculous talks about Saryl Lothston more than once already. People said that she had lost her moon blood too early and so she was barren now, that she had now taken to visiting healers and wise-women, that she was sacrificing to the Stranger. Had no one dared say this to Maekar? Normally, the King wouldn't have given those rumours much thought at all. After all, it was Maekar's business and no one else's. Childless – well, that was the will of the Seven and the woman could hardly be blamed for this. But if she was going too far in her seeking of a cure? He had seen her with Maekar's children when Daeron and Aerion were small, the longing and despair in her eyes. She had been fervently wishing for a child of her own even as a young girl and not a woman over thirty… Who could say what she wouldn't do to get one? She was the woman Maekar had delegated the responsibility of organizing his daughters' everyday life and overseeing their studies. Daeron would feel uncomfortable having her near Daella and Rhae if even a tiny bit of the rumours was true. But he couldn't make his mind and Maekar gave no indications of his thoughts and intentions.

Of course, Daeron had an idea what reaction he'd get if he mentioned those concerns of his. Thew would of Aemon's leaving was still open and any such conversation would be putting a salt in it. Maekar was not someone who gave his affection easily but once he had given it, it would be hard to make him retract it. He was almost incapable of seeing any great flaws in those he loved – and if he didn't quite love the Lothston woman, he was close to that, at least. And with the rift he had drawn between himself and the rest of the family after Aemon's leaving, she was almost the only person he felt closeness and connection to. He'd defend her fiercely… but he needed to know, did he not? Even if it wasn't for the girls' wellbeing, a woman who might turn out a prey to all sorts of wise-women was a dangerous choice for the only succor in his life. Daeron had to take the risk, although Maekar was still as distant as ever, only visiting his mother and Rhaegel who could hardly be suspected of having a hand in deciding Aemon's fate.

And of course, the clash went as badly as Daeron had expected.

* * *

The evening feast was a gathering that Saryl sometimes neglected to attend just because she didn't want to. She didn't feel at home amidst large crowds but she didn't feel particularly uncomfortable either. But there were days when she suddenly felt that the treatment her rank of a mistress brought her was too much to bear. Etiquette would not let her even enter with Maekar, let alone sit at the high table with him. When she approached the great double doors, only one panel would be opened. At the table, people would wonder in whispers just how long she'd last before he tossed her aside as he had done with every other woman he had taken after the first years of no women at all following Dyanna Dayne's death. In the days when this mattered, she preferred to take her meals alone and the next day she was usually back to feeling that all was just fine.

Lately, Maekar had started supping with her in private more often. Sometimes, he brought Aegon and the girls with him and other days, it was just the two of them. Later, he'd sit down with piles of parchments – his load of work seemed to be increasing – as she worked with her needles. Sometimes, they didn't even speak for an hour or two, each busy with their own doings. He seemed content just to be near her. Which was why one night, about a month after Aemon's leaving, she was taken aback to see that his outward coldness turned not to peace or longing for her nearness upon entering but anxiety. He wouldn't look at her or talk to her. She started sorting through her threads and needles, feeling that something was terribly out of order and waiting. He looked scared of her.

Finally, he rose abruptly and came to stand before her chair. "Have you gone to that woman, the Lyseni witch?" he asked sharply.

Was that all? Saryl smiled and felt that she could breathe again. "Yes," she replied, feeling a blush creeping up her cheeks.

Her straightforward answer seemed to calm him down. He asked with his usual voice, "Why?"

She looked down, stunned that he hadn't guessed. "It's… female business."

Even without looking at him, she could tell the moment he knew. He sighed and made a step back to see her better. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

"I had to try, Maekar. Just one last time." She looked up. "You heard something?"

"I did."

"I did as well," Saryl said. "Woe to widows, spinsters, women like me… They'll always be in everyone's mouth."

"Women like you?"

She wondered why he even asked. He, of all people, should know what it was like to be disliked and whispered about because of just who you were. Or perhaps not. What people said about him was not true. What they said about her, though… Reticent Saryl who could never reign over a crowd of courtiers. Saryl who was almost beautiful but not quite. Saryl who did not have moon blood.

"You know," she said. "I'll never be a mother. And the rest of it. When the Seven decide to punish someone, people have no mercy. I wish you had come to me before getting so angry."

Maekar sighed and reached for her hand. "I am sorry," he said. "It's just that I had this most unpleasant conversation with the King. Normally, he the soul of tact. He had left me on my own devices, so I was quite surprised when he broke the trust to ask me about this."

Her lips disappeared into a tight line. So now she had not only highborn and smallfolk alike against her but Daeron the Good as well? That was his first acknowledging of her relationship with his son? She was surprised by how much it stung. From her time with Lady Dyanna, she remembered him as a wise and kind man, always respectful to his gooddaughter, indulgent to his grandchildren.

Looking at her, Maekar decided not to share his father's true concern, that she might be a bad influence on the girls. Instead, he reached with his free hand to hold hers between his palms, wishing to give her the same silent comfort that she had given him the night Aemon had been sent to the Citadel. "Come here," he murmured, holding her close, and felt how she clung to him, just for a moment. He was not in love with her, not the way he had been with Dyanna, but there was fondness. Unwillingness to let her go. And unfailing desire to keep her safe from the vile tongues that knew nothing of the long nights she had spent walking with crying babes in her arms when even Dyanna and the nursemaid had been too exhausted to calm them down, the way his girls adored her, the fact that there was more to her than the motherhood nature had refused her by creating her without a womb. Saryl was reluctant to talk of the treatments the maesters at Sunspear and the Tyroshi healers had given her to make her able to lie with a man at all but he had gotten the inkling that it had been both painful and mortifying. Perhaps he should have reined her unrealistic hopes in before things went this far but he had chosen against depriving her of them at once. A grave mistake.

They didn't speak of the Lyseni woman anymore and as they took their meal, Maekar saw that she brightened up again somewhat. His anger toward the King didn't abate, though. Was there anything in his life that Daeron didn't consider expendable, faulty, not good enough? If the rumours persisted, would he send Saryl away, the way he had Aemon because, as usual, what Maekar, let alone the people involved themselves, thought and felt wasn't important enough compared to the King's own considerations?

"Don't go to that woman anymore," he said when they went to bed. "Do not torment yourself."

No one could do anything for her except for relieving her of her redundant money, Saryl knew it but rationality had nothing to do with it. Many thought she wanted a child to tie Maekar closer to her, make him wed her, even. She had no such wishes. She just wanted a babe.

"I know it's stupid of me," she sighed. "It's just so hard to be punished without knowing what it is that you did."

"You aren't being punished," he said sharply and drew a palm along her cheek. "You just had bad luck. And besides, there is no one to punish you. The Seven just sit idly, not even laughing at our misfortunes."

Saryl smiled faintly at his practical way of looking at things. "I think I had good luck," she murmured. How many women like here were there? How many of them had been flogged, ostracized, killed even for bewitching someone's manhood when a bedding couldn't occur? She touched the sapphire on her finger. _Thank you, my lady_ , she thought, remembering all the kindnesses the late Princess of Summerhall had done her. Even the fact that she could be with Dyanna's husband now was due to this great lady's insistence that Saryl tried the treatment the maesters in Dyanna's native Dorne could offer. She had loved Maekar's Dayne wife and mourned her death bitterly…

All in all, she got over the accident pretty quickly. Maekar, though, would not forget this last meddling, this new attempt of the King to dismiss a thing that mattered to him any time soon.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks, VVSINGOFTHECROSS and Anna, for leaving reviews!_

 **The Rift**

Chapter 3

The sound of girls playing was something the King had expected in his granddaughter's chambers. The look of the three heads, two dark and one richly brown-haired was also familiar and so dear to him that his heart swelled. But he was quite unprepared for the person who welcomed him most actively. He was no person at all. Daeron barely managed a glimpse at the dark ball that screeched and threw itself on his shoulders before twining a hand in his hair and with a new screech showed him that he was expected to carry it somewhere…

"What's this?" he asked, amazed. The girls gasped, horrified, and he fought to get a good grip at the thing and bring it downward and forward so he could finally have a good look.

It was a little monkey. It looked so pleased with its recent mischief that Daeron laughed. It was dressed like a court jester in rich scarlet and golden silks, with golden bells singing from all around its head, the sound clearly fascinating it.

"That's Song," Aelora explained. "Rhae and Daella gave him to me. He's a monkey," she added unnecessarily.

 _Why, seeing just how pleased he is with himself, I could take him for your father or uncles when they were this age,_ Daeron thought and smiled. A monkey! Who had come up with the idea, the girls or Saryl Lothston? Or Aegon, perhaps? There was certain mischief to his youngest grandson as well. He looked at Aelora and smiled. "Happy nameday, child," he said. "I wish you to grow up as lovely as your mother."

She nodded happily and came close so he could kiss her cheek. "So, Song he is?" Daeron asked.

"Yes," Aelora confirmed. "Because he likes music." Then, a frowning line appeared between her eyebrows. "Is he a boy? How do we know, Grandfather?"

"I –" Daeron started and paused. He wasn't about to start telling his granddaughters things that no young lady should know. And it was their septas' job anyway. Or Aelora's mother's. And Saryl Lothston. Of course, he could hardly broach the subject to Alys… "It's so small that it doesn't matter, really," he finished, sounding quite unconvincingly in his own hearing but the girls started nodding wisely. The monkey screamed again and jumped on Aelora's shoulder to get her going somewhere with a hand in her curls.

"You'll have to teach him manners," Daeron said, already imagining how Song would start jumping on the shoulders of everyone at court and start tugging at their hairs. Woe to those who wore wigs… "Come on," he said. "Let me take you to your present."

Aelora's breath caught. "A pony," she whispered, unable to believe. "A pony of my own…"

"Perhaps yes, perhaps not," Daeron teased. "Let's go and see, shall we?"

Of course it was a pony. Aelora has been begging for one for years, ever since Daella had gotten hers. But Daella had always been extremely robust while Aelora had been very small and frail from the moment she had emerged, as sometimes happened with second twins. With Aelor still being so much bigger than her and twice as healthy, Alys and Rhaegel's reluctance to let her do anything carrying even the faintest hint of risk was understandable. But time had come now.

It was a lovely morning and Daeron fully enjoyed it, with Aelora holding onto his hand and almost skipping with excitement and Daella and Rhae discussing what colour the pony would be if there was a pony and what Aelora should name it. Wherever they passed, people bowed and gave their best wishes. For once, Daeron thought most of those were sincere. Aelora was a great favourite in the Red Keep, with her sunny disposition and her smiling purple eyes. The wide smile that she accepted the congratulations with revealed two teeth that had fallen not long ago. Her joy of having a nameday melted some of the grim foreboding that was Daeron's constant companion now.

In the stables, they were met with hurried bows and obvious delight to have such esteemed visitors. Aelora was so eager to see her present that she tugged Daeron to follow the groom that had ran to bring the pony out.

It was then that they heard it: loud shouts, the hiss of whips and the unmistakable sound of a men's brawl. Daeron wouldn't have paid much attention but the girls looked startled. "Is someone hurt?" Rhae asked fearfully.

"I am sure no one is," Daeron replied but the girls had started looking around, trying to investigate.

The sounds were coming from the inside of the stables; as Daeron watched, a lanky silhouette shot out of the open door and ran along the wall surrounding the yard. Two men chased after him when he suddenly changed direction, crossed the yard, and stopped before Daeron so sharply that he almost stumbled backwards; without thinking twice, Daeron reached out and steadied him with the long experience of saving people from disgracing themselves at bowing or curtsying before him.

Not that the youth had any intention to do either. He was both very scared and very angry. "Your Grace!" he yelled as soon as Daeron released him. "I've been working in your stables since I could walk. I've been nothing but attentive in my duties! And these louts are calling me a thief!"

"Is that so?" Daeron asked.

"Are you one?" Daella asked , very interested.

"He is a thief, Your Grace," the Master of Horse said darkly, coming close. Daeron could see that he looked genuinely regretful. "There is no way for him to afford what was found in his bunk."

"The Prince gave it to me!"

"What?" the three girls asked in chorus. "What is it?"

The Master of Horse looked at the King who nodded. But when the contested object came to the light, it was Daeron who was shocked more than the girls. The shining of the silver, the elegant lines of tail and trunk, carefully designed to be exactly the same size and shape. Suddenly, the sight of the tiny elephant brought him back to the time when he had been standing at Maekar's bedside and wondering if his son would wake up to see the present. In this long day and half a night, all he could do had been staring at the elephant.

"Where did you take this from?" he asked, taking it in his own palm. "I know who it used to belong to."

"It was a present! And they had no right to rummage through my things anyway!"

That was not a defense that the Master of Horse could leave unchallenged. But as his chest was expanding to unleash a storm, Rhae started waving madly at someone just coming in the yard.

A moment later, Maekar himself was standing next to them, with the Lothston lady who didn't look quite pleased to be here. They were obviously coming back from a ride. She curtsied and stayed away, although Daella and Rhae waved her close. They were too young to realize the nature of her relationship with their father and its implications.

"What's this gathering here?" Maekar asked after bowing and then smiling at Aelora. "May I give you my present later?"

She nodded happily but immediately returned her attention to the situation with the thief.

"So, what's that?" Maekar asked again.

"We have a thief, Your Grace," the Master of Horse said reluctantly.

Maekar looked surprised. "Is that so?" he asked the lad.

"No, Your Grace."

Daeron raised his hand to show the small figurine. "That's yours, isn't it?"

Maekar looked at the thing. "Not anymore. I gave it to him."

The lad gave everyone in the crowd that had gathered a look that was downright gleeful. But Daeron didn't care about his vindication. "You've been keeping it in your pouch for many years. You thought it brought you good luck. Why would you give it to a stable boy?" he asked, incredulous. Out of all the presents he had made Maekar in his childhood, that had been one that his son had cherished almost above all others, carrying it with him everywhere for almost a year. That night, Maekar had been talking about this strange animal that he had read about, the one that had two tails, one where it belonged and another coming between its eyes, and how could that be? The very next day, he had fallen down the stairs of the Sea Dragon Tower at Dragonstone.

Maekar looked around. "Go on your business," he ordered brusquely, indicating everyone. "There's nothing to see. It was all just a misunderstanding." He looked at the boy. "Who would think that a small gift would create such a mess. I thought you'd sell it."

The youth looked ashamed. Daeron supposed that he had never had something this fine and couldn't make himself part with it, no matter what. Maekar fumbled in his pouch. "That's for you," he said, handing the boy a golden dragon. "You did a great job. She's as good as new, as if she has never had any trouble at all."

Soon, everyone was gone, the boy explaining how he had taken care of Lady Saryl's sand mare when it had been having trouble with her leg and this time being believed. Daeron, though, couldn't believe it. A sand mare. A bloody horse! "You gave up the elephant over a horse?" he asked again.

Maekar shrugged. "I had no coin about my person," he said casually. "Besides, I thought it might bring him luck."

 _Because it no longer brought luck to you_ , Daeron realized, the ache in his heart sudden and sharp. But Maekar didn't see it. He was already saying goodbye to the children. A bow and a formal plea to be allowed to leave, and he was already going to where his Lothston lady was waiting.

Through the entire exchange, he had not looked at his father properly. Not even once.

* * *

 **The End**


End file.
